


My Every Road Leads To You

by MintSauce



Series: The Halfway House [37]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: M/M, Smut, with feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-09
Updated: 2015-05-09
Packaged: 2018-03-29 16:16:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3902704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MintSauce/pseuds/MintSauce
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's everything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	My Every Road Leads To You

**Author's Note:**

> I'm actually rather proud of this one. 
> 
> The title is inspired by a song off the Spirit Soundtrack, which is a movie everyone should watch and a CD I've been driving my roommate nuts listening to recently!

Ian wakes up slowly to the sound of bottle clinking together as the fridge door swings open and shut.

The room is dark, lit only by the strange blue hues of some underwater program playing on the television. Mickey walks towards him through the haze, the most beautiful thing Ian’s ever laid eyes on.

He’s in Ian’s hoodie and nothing else. The zip is done up half way, exposing the dip of his chest and the smooth hollow of his throat as he tips his head back to take a long swallow of beer. The fabric is just long enough to cover his arse, the bottom curve of his cheeks just visible.

All Ian can concentrate on is the dark hair on his pale thighs, the way his bare feet are nearly silent against the floor and his sleep=mussed hair. Mickey’s expression is still slack with sleep, the look on his face lazy and content.

It’s just the way that Ian loves him the most. Carefree and for Ian’s eyes only.

His cock twitches, fattening inside of the confines of his jeans.

He’s still piled under an obscene amount of blankets, so the jingle of his belt is muffled to the room. Mickey’s not paying attention to him, content to just drink his beer in the kitchen, staring out their apartment window.

Ian’s happy to just watch him, easing his jeans down his thighs and palming his cock as it hardens more fully. He pushes enough blankets aside that he can get a good grip on himself, tongue slicking over his bottom lip as he takes in the sight of Mickey standing there.

 _Fuck, he’s gorgeous_.

It makes Ian want to go over there and just bend him over the counter, eat him out until he screams, suck him down until he forgets his name and then fuck him until the only thing he can pronounce is Ian’s name.

If it was any other way, Ian would. For now though, he’s more than happy enough where he is. He’s happy to dig the lube out from between the couch cushions and fuck up into a slick fist, slow and lazy.

He loves the sight of Mickey in his clothes, but he’s never realised quite how much until right then. He might have to make a rule or start hiding Mickey’s clothes or something. Anything to get him to look like this all the time.

It’s still sweltering inside the apartment, the heating turned up as high as it will go. Ian’s groin feels sticky with it, balls heavy and thighs scalding with the heat and the sweat.

He watches Mickey move over to where Oliver slips out of the shadows of the corner of the room. He watches Mickey bend over to shake some food into the cat’s bowl and has to bite his lip to keep from moaning out loud as more of Mickey’s ass is revealed to him with the action.

It feels like he’s getting to witness a secret; the slow drag of material against Mickey’s skin, the careful reveal of just that new little strip of skin. Mickey’s hole nestled somewhere between those cheeks, probably still just a little loose from their fuck that morning.

His fingers itch to go over there and bite at the curve of Mickey’s ass, to spread him wide and kiss that careful little secret until it opens wide for him.

He stares as Mickey straightens up again, the hoodie staying bunched up that little inch higher until Mickey tugs it down. Ian’s fingers flutter around the head of his dick, hand working slow, but still firm enough to get him edging closer and closer to that edge.

He could come just from watching, just from this.

He could, but he doesn’t think he wants to.

No… now that he’s watching, he knows he wants to touch, wants to press himself inside Mickey and feel the heat he knows is buried deep inside of him. There’s no other feeling like it and that’s what he wants tonight, that’s what he needs.

“Come here,” he says, voice coming out low and gentle, but it’s still loud in the quiet of the room.

Mickey jumps and he spins around, eyes accusing until they land on Ian. His gaze focusses on where Ian’s hand is still working away beneath the cover of the blankets and he smirks, slow and filthy. His eyebrow starts to climb towards his hairline and Ian’s hand slips down, tugs at his balls a little more rough than he usually likes.

Just that look on Mickey’s face is enough to have it almost be all over.

“Come here,” he says again and Mickey does.

He pushes the blankets aside and swings a leg over Ian’s lap.

He shivers as Ian pulls the tab of the zipper down slowly. He kisses each piece of skin bared to him, runs his tongue over the warm flesh. He bites gently at Mickey’s nipple, through the fabric and then edging it aside with his nose to roll it between his teeth directly.

Mickey makes a strangled noise and his hands fly to Ian’s hair, gripping tight enough to hurt, but Ian doesn’t care enough that.

He pulls away from Mickey’s chest to catch his eye and he can’t help the words that tumble out past his lips then. “You’re so beautiful,” he says.

Even in the weird blue light from the television, Mickey’s blush is obvious. It’s gorgeous.

He doesn’t say anything in return, but he moves as if to take off the hoodie. Ian catches his hands quickly, one wet with lube still and shakes his head. “Don’t,” he says and it sounds like it’s being torn out from deep inside of him. Maybe it is.

Mickey raises an eyebrow again but otherwise he doesn’t comment.

“Come on,” he murmurs guiding Ian’s hand behind him and pressing his slick fingers against his entrance.

Ian groans with him, head dropping to rest against Mickey’s sternum as he presses two fingers straight inside of him. He works him open gently, but with barely enough patience. It’s still slow, almost lazy and fitting with this mood they’re building between them, but he wants to skip to the next part already.

“I’ve got you,” Mickey says, petting his hair, the side of his face and lifting up over Ian and moving his hand out of the way.

He sits back, the head of Ian’s cock slipping inside of him easily.

Ian’s breath hitches in his chest and his head falls back, mouth open as Mickey slowly sinks down. He can’t take his eyes off of him though, can’t look away from the sight of Mickey above him. His flushed face, the way he bites his lip.

Ian runs his hands up Mickey’s thighs and around underneath where the hoodie is bunched up around his waist to cup his ass.

Mickey’s hips roll as he grinds down against him and Ian shudders, gasps out something that sounds like Mickey’s name, but is probably more just a string of unintelligible sounds. It doesn’t matter though, because Mickey looks as far gone as he is.

His hands run up Ian’s neck, cup the sides of his face as he leans in. When their mouths connect, it makes everything else cease to matter. Even for a second the fact they’re having sex, even the feeling of Mickey gripping tight around him doesn’t quite matter.

Not when Mickey is kissing him like the world could be ending. Not when Mickey’s mouth is firm against him, tongue slipping into his mouth and his breath whispering against Ian’s lips. Mickey’s kiss is astounding it’s enough to drown in. And when his eyes slip shut, with the blue light in the room, it almost feels like he could be.

He adores every second of it though, of this drowning.

He can’t get enough, doesn’t care for anything else.

He just presses Mickey closer with his palms on his back and kisses him, hips stilled against the warm, full swell of Mickey’s ass in his lap.

“Mickey,” Ian whispers right into his mouth.

“I know,” he replies, hips starting to roll again slowly.

He presses down and Ian pushes up to meet him and it feels like Mickey is consuming him. Their mouths still drifting against each other gently, Mickey’s fingers combing out the curls in Ian’s hair, it’s all perfect.  

He doesn’t have the vocabulary for this and he doesn’t want it.

He just wants to hold this moment between them for as long as he can, wants to keep Mickey lazy and content against him. He wants to keep them both here, until time ceases to exist, because where else do they have to go from here?

There’s nothing else now. Everything that Ian could ever want to chase, everything he could ever want to look for is right there in front of him. It’s writhing in his lap, head tipping back and chest pushing forwards as his eyes screw shut.

Ian lifts a hand, rubs his thumb over Mickey’s bottom lip and prizes it free from his teeth. He kisses the teeth marks there, kisses the corner of Mickey’s mouth, his cheek and jaw.

He stares at him, stares because he never wants to look away.

Maybe this is why people don’t get why their relationship works like it does. Maybe this is why people don’t understand. Because how could Ian describe this feeling? How could Ian describe a feeling that words haven’t been invented for yet?

What does that even mean?

It feels so inconsequential. It isn’t love, it isn’t just that. It isn’t just the big picture moments, the professions of adoration and the slick slide of bodies against the sheets. It isn’t the Hollywood definition of love, of his sister’s, or even what Ian ever thought it would be.

It’s so much more than that. It’s everything.

He’d call it perfect, but it isn’t.

It’s not just the perfect moments, maybe it isn’t those at all. It’s the little moments of Mickey slipping into his hoodie, of Ian coming home to find him there curled beneath the blankets. Just one day in a sea of so many.

It’s love and it’s everything. It’s indescribable and it’s theirs.

It’s what the rest of Ian’s life is going to look like, if only he gets to be so lucky.

**Author's Note:**

> I am still [themintsauce](http://themintsauce.tumblr.com) and you should still come talk to me!


End file.
